


The story of her youth begins

by AerisCruent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jon's happy and all smiles, Romance, Sansa fell totally in love, Sansa's happy and all smiles, Slow Burn, everyone is happy okay, it's basically just a happy little fic, jonsa, stupid dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AerisCruent/pseuds/AerisCruent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Young love. She wasn’t sure if she could ever fall in love, and even if she considered this possibility, she wouldn’t ever think to call it young love. She felt like she aged so much in those years after they left Winterfell.</p>
<p>Young love.</p>
<p>But then she thought about Jon.</p>
<p>Young love. It was it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The story of her youth begins

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Jonsa fic, ever, and I wanted to make something really fluffy with a slowburn, but also keep it short, so here it is :) I really hope you like it!
> 
> And a HUGE thank you for cjayp and chezza23 for beta-reading the fic, both of you are brilliant, and thank you so much :))

1.

The first time it ever happened, when she felt like  _it was something else_ , was on a day like any other; it hit her deep in the chest, in a place that's never been touched by anyone else in her entire life and she thought it would never be. At least not like  _this_.

She swears that the laughter from the Great Hall could be heard from every single corner of the castle as Jon took Bran in his wheelchair and they whooshed across the Hall back and forth.

“Jon, just stop it, I have to go!” Bran shouted, yet he laughed and laughed as his cousin raced with him and maneuvered his wheelchair between tables.

“Jon, listen to him. Meera's waiting for him in the stables!” Sansa tried to sound serious and sharp, but the smile she couldn’t hold back softened her voice to a chuckle.

“See? The Lady of this castle commands!” Bran warned him, so Jon stopped at the end of the hall and looked at the boy.

“Then I shall obey,” Jon said. Soon he started to run again, even faster than before, and Sansa felt the need to step out of their way, but he stopped right in front of her so suddenly that she jumped again with a quiet giggle-scream. Years ago, she never thought she would ever feel so young again like she did in a moment such as this.

“As my lady wishes” Jon, the newfound Targaryen Prince, King in the North, bowed to her playfully, and Sansa just rolled her eyes.

For a moment, though, his gaze became so soft and tender, the look on his face felt like a caress on her soul. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, and his palm was so big and warm around her own and his fingers strong as he lightly ran them over her skin. His lips gave a smile so bright she thought he was the sun, and something somewhere beneath her ribcage twitched violently.

She realized it was her heart.

And then, not even a second later, he let go of her and looked away to run with Bran again, out of the Hall, probably down the stables.  She was left there with her heavy breathing; all she could hear was their laughter and her pounding heart.

(She didn’t know just yet what that feeling was, so she just shook her head.)

 

2.

 They tried so hard to keep it quiet - and they failed miserably.

There wasn’t a real reason as to why in seven hells they were sneaking into their own kitchen, into their own castle, pretending they were the biggest thieves of all time. Yet they were giggling like children as they ran through the castle, something Sansa missed for years before she reunited with Jon at Castle Black.

“Ouch, don’t step on me!” she shouted through a whisper, and he snorted as an answer. “I can barely see anything!” she raised the candle in her hands higher, and now they could see the doors of the larder across the kitchen.

“There it is. The rest of your lemon cake,” he leaned closer to whisper into her ear and she felt goosebumps on her neck as her blood rushed through her face. She thanked the gods he couldn’t really see it in the candlelight, and hoped it was only the effect of the Dornish wine they shared after dinner, and not... something else. Something much more inappropriate.

“And our wine,” she stepped to the door, and opened it with as little noise as she could, but damn, that door was old, and it was squeaking like seven hells. Jon's chuckle didn’t help either.

“So you want to drink more?” he asked her with a challenge in his voice, and she turned around to reply, but then his face was  _right there_ ,  _this_  close, and by the the candlelight, there was this strange spark in his eyes that made her swallow. And it sounded so loud she knew he could’ve heard it too.

And there was that smirk on his lips, oh gods, those lips - she was staring for too long before she looked up into his eyes again; but then she couldn’t help but look back as the expression on his face became slowly more serious, and his lips parted.

_He’s going to kiss me_  - she thought, but the scary thing was: she didn’t know if it was her conclusion or her desire.

Then he grabbed her arms, and gently turned her around to face the darkness of the larder. He took her hands in his from behind to guide her candle higher, near the larder.

“After you, my lady” he said, and she decided she was having no more wine tonight.

(But they ended up talking that night until he fell asleep on the carpet in his chambers. She was brushing his soft black hair with her fingers, and smiled, because it felt right.)

 

3.

He came back. He came back.  _He came back_.

It was the hymn her whole soul sung as soon as she saw his horse arrive at the gates of Winterfell from the window of her chambers.

She ran down the stairs, through the halls, so quick as if she was a child chasing her siblings again, before she had been taught by her Septa how a lady was supposed to act like.

When she made it out of the castle walls, she realized she forgot to put on her coat; the freezing wind reached her bones, and the snow crashed into her delicate skin so cold it hurt, but he was right there, across the yard, closer than he’s ever been in the last three months, and he looked up at her. Their eyes met and her legs moved without her knowing.

He let go of his horse, and he ran toward her. Sansa felt like she hasn’t seen his beautiful face for an eternity and when they collided, she jumped into his grasp, resting her arms around his neck, like she was not willing to let go so soon.

She felt the livid warmth of his body all around her, and she buried her face into his neck, taking a long breath to feel his scent. He smelled like home.

She heard his breathing and his relieved sighs, and she could feel him smiling as he whispered into the air. “I got you...  _I got you..._ ”

She moved her head to place quick sweet kisses over his chin, his cheek, his temple, his forehead and his hair; and after she was lost in his embrace again, only then she realized it was for everyone around to see, but she couldn’t care, and she wouldn’t let go.

_“I missed you so much”_  she said with her voice trembling, and it almost sounded like a plea.

She could hear a quiet laugh escape his lungs as he hummed her name into her neck, and chills ran down her spine as his breath tickled her skin.

“Sansa... Sansa, let’s get you warm,” he said eventually, and he let go, but only to take off his own fur to put it over her shoulders and wrap his arm around her. He walked her into the warmth of the castle with his embrace, into the crossfire of everyone else’s gaze, but Sansa could care less about courtesy, not when he’s here, when he’s home. Not now.

She overheard a conversation from two handmaidens only days later.

“I still do think our lady is ill,” said the much younger one. “She must’ve been frightened that Prince Jon wouldn’t come home in time before she - “

“Oh, you silly girl!” the older woman, at least two decades older than Sansa, scolded her. “Don’t you know that this godsdamned kind of conspiracy doesn’t do good to your health? Lady Sansa isn’t ill, it’s just young love. You will understand when you get older.”

_Young love._

These two words echoed in her head for the rest of the day.  _Young love_. She wasn’t sure if she could ever fall in love, and even if she considered this possibility, she wouldn’t ever think to call it  _young love_. She felt like she aged so much in those years after they left Winterfell.

_Young love._

But then she thought about Jon.

Young love. It was it.

(She was happy to realize that the story of her life didn’t come to an end when the Great War was finally won. There are still stories to explore. Maybe even happier stories.)

 

4.

She ran her fingers through Ghost’s hair as he lied on their feet so calmly in the snow, and Ghost leaned into her touch gratefully.

She couldn’t help but smile. The soft snow, the godwood’s air, the direwolf enjoying her company...

_And the boy she loves_  sitting by her side.

She shook her head. He had become a man long ago, but it was hard not to think about him as a simple boy, when beside him she felt like just a young girl, careless and happy.

Sansa straightened up to look at him, only to find him staring at her with a smile and a strange look on his face.

“He loves you,” Jon said quietly, and it felt like a confession. The world fell into even greater silence, and they stared at each other too long for her heart not to skip a beat.

Suddenly she became painfully aware how their legs were pressed against each other, thigh to thigh, and she could swear she felt the faintest little push from him against her knee.

Young love, the handmaiden once said.

(She wondered if he loved her, too.)

 

5.

Sansa felt like the world slowed down as they moved to the music in smaller and smaller steps, closer and tighter against each other. His hands around her waist guided her with so much ease, their fingers somehow intertwined during the song, and her hand resting on his shoulder slipped higher as they got closer and closer, her thumb caressing the skin where his neck and chin met.

When she looked into his eyes, and he looked back into hers, she felt just like a little girl so in love, not the Lady of a castle, and he, just a boy with stars in his eyes everytime he looked at her, not the Prince of the kingdoms.

“You should really ask someone else for the next dance,” she told him quietly, hoping he could hear her low voice through the burst of music around them. She remembered it was their second dance in a row; one more would be inappropriate, so she chose to follow courtesy, reminding him that their guests might feel uncomfortable if the Prince didn't ask for anyone else but the Lady of his own home to dance.

He said “I should,” without breaking eye-contact, but then he lowered his chin to lean into her touch with closed eyes, and hummed so quietly she could barely hear it. 

_“I love you, Sansa.”_

She stopped both of them in the middle of the dance, and he opened his eyes as if waking from a dream, his face confused and surprised, like he couldn’t believe what he just said. She was sure she must've looked the same.

“What did you say?” she asked with such passion it sounded more like a scold and less like a hopeful girl’s whisper.

“I- I…” he stumbled upon his own words, and he looked anywhere but her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want- I didn’t mean- I… I’m sorry, Sansa…”

And the song came to an end at that moment. “I should… go ask Lady Glover,” he muttered and let go of her. He turned around to leave, but Sansa took his hand to hold him back.

“Jon” she said, and he turned around with so much fear in his eyes she just wanted to kiss him right there and right now, but there were eyes, staring all over, members of the noble houses of the North. “You love me,” she stated with so much hope, so much happiness in her voice, yet he didn’t seem to notice.

He sighed and, after a second that felt like an eternity, he looked up at her. “Yes” he nodded, and his voice trembled. “I do, Sansa. And I’m sorry you had to know it this way, I don’t even know what – “

But she squeezed his hands, just to shut him up already, because it was obvious he just wanted to go on with his apologetic monologue for the rest of the night. He looked surprised, but didn’t say a word.

“Good,” she said, and gave him a big-big smile; her whole soul felt like breathing for the first time. “After you have danced and chatted with the guests, come to the hallway, upstairs.”

She enjoyed watching his face turn from fear and nervousness to surprise and then to a smile that brightened up her whole heart. “I will” he said confidently. He quickly turned around to find some guests. Not even walking three steps away, he faced her again. “I will” he said once more, as if Sansa didn’t believe him the first time, and she swallowed a laugh as he walked away.

If she wasn’t so scared to look at him with so many people watching as she left, she would see him following her steps from over Lady Glover's shoulder.

And when he arrived and was just ten feet away from her, she confessed. “I love you too, you know” and he looked like the happiest man alive.

He cradled her face and their lips were only  _this_  close; their foreheads touched, and she felt his breath on her skin. She couldn’t help but giggle. “May I kiss you?” he whispered, as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. She closed the space between them as an answer.

(She melted in his embrace, and she felt like this was the beginning of the real story of her youth. A much happier story.)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr (my url is aerishey)! You can also send Jonsa prompts, but of course I make no promises :)  
> Aaaand I really hope you liked it, please tell me what you think, comments are really aprreciated :))


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